Continued from yesterday’s post.

There was a wounded wizard off in the corner of the far room, which several members of the party tried to aid: he spent most of the encounter with a large piece of some type of shrapnel sticking through his chest. (Curiously enough to cause his a great deal of agony, such that he was screaming, but not so much as to render him unconscious or prevent him from screaming. In other words, the best and most dramatic kind.)

Unfortunately, none of the party members were able to administer him aid before the end of combat, and he expired shortly thereafter, but not before pressing a bloodied ring into our dragonborn ranger’s hand. (His body was then whisked into a Bag of Holding owned by the sorcerer Arasys. In a word: ew.) The wrackspawn minions had left the party in sad shape, covered in horrific wounds that sapped their ability to fight and defend themselves.

The ceiling of the office and the adjacent classroom collapsed around them and they were forced to climb through the burning wreckage into the room above them, which they managed with no small effort. The group reached temporary safety at the end of the climb (crawl. squeeze. burnination.) and were awarded 1,050 experience for their efforts (that was for all seven of them. hey, that gives me an idea for a plot…).